


Slow Burn

by Atsuki-hime (Atsuki_hime)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: EWE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atsuki_hime/pseuds/Atsuki-hime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He only wanted to help.</p><p>Written for the 2012 SSHG Exchange for karelia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to karelia for her inspiring prompt in the SSHG Exchange: _A murderer is on the loose in the wizarding world. After Aurors fail to track him or her down, Hermione and Snape are asked by the Minister to investigate, since the two have more brain cells between them than the entire Aurory._
> 
> Also, thanks so much to sixpence_jones for her amazing alpha work and brit picking. Without her, you'd all be reading nothing but word vomit.

* * *

She brought him a vial.

It had been with solemn, tired eyes and a deep frown that she placed the blue, crystal vial in his hand along with an envelope. Her entire being radiated that something was wrong with her, and it was when she began describing what was inside that he understood.

It was a poison.

Several charms had been placed on the poison, resulting in an undetectable nature and preventing it from being broken down into its individual components or from being replicated. The first few samples she’d received had promptly burst into a near fatal vapor during her first attempts to remove the charms placed on it. Clearly, it had been rigged to kill anyone who attempted to figure out where it came from.

She spoke with a weary voice, eyes carefully averted while she explained how it took her forty-three hours straight to break the last charm placed on the poison. She didn’t have a Mastery in Charms and wasn’t the head Unspeakable in the Division of Charms and Transfiguration Theory and Research for nothing. 

He noted how her voice wavered and her fingers twitched when she got to the part about how the poison had been ingested by four wizards and one witch, all of whom were now dead. The poison burned its way through the internal organs, starting with the stomach and spreading through the intestines and working toward the kidneys. It worked to keep the victim alive as long as possible to suffer through the unimaginable pain of having your insides scorched out of existence. 

If her eyes misted after that, he made no mention of it.

The deaths were being called murders, and the Aurors were working diligently to try and find the culprit. She’d been entrusted by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to try and remove the charms from the poison so they could break up its components. If they could find out what it was made of, then they could possibly determine its origin. That would be the next step in determining the murderer.

She met his eyes then, her cinnamon gaze tiredly meeting his coal one. She looked like she hadn’t changed her clothes in two days, and had probably rushed this down to him the moment she broke the last charm. His job was to break the poison down into its individual components and locate its origin. Based on its ingredients, they could determine what part of the world the poison may have been created in, and start searching from there.

She handed him the vial and the envelope, smiling at him softly before turning to leave. He placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her before she finished her first step.

“Who was it?” he asked, his voice gravelly and quiet – a permanent change after the snake had ripped through his larynx.

He felt her stiffen underneath his hand as her head drooped, her hair covering her face.

“Ch-Charlie,” she managed to choke out. Her resolve had finally crumbled, but she managed to suppress it enough so he wouldn’t have noticed without feeling the slight tremble of her shoulders underneath his hand.

So, a Weasley was dead.

He let her go then, and she hurried out of his office without another word. He leaned against the front of his desk, bringing the blue vial up to dangle from his fingertips in front of his eyes.

A poison that burned the victim’s insides until death.

He feared he didn’t need to break the poison down to figure out where it came from.

He already knew.

* * *

__

_Five years ago._

Hermione Granger stared at herself in the mirror, wearing nothing but her plain undergarments. The war had been over for nearly three years, and she’d finally gained back all of the weight she’d lost during her time in the woods. And then some, she mused as she poked her belly.

Her hair was still an untamable mass of curls that fell in thick waves around her head. Ever since she’d turned twenty, her hair seemed to take on a much healthier shine and the almost constant frizz had dissipated. While she could never get her curls to fall in sleek, glossy rings like some of the other witches and their fancy spells could, she was still proud of her bush of golden brown locks. 

If her cinnamon toned eyes had been missing some spark in them three years ago when the war ended, she was certain something was beginning to return in their depths. Academia did tend to bring out her cheer, and since she’d just completed her degree in Charms and was halfway through her Mastery, while getting a degree in Transfiguration as well, she knew her academic success had something to do with the re-birth of the slight sparkle she saw in her cinnamon irises.

She frowned slightly at the silvery scar visible down her sternum, only to have it deepen as her eyes landed on the slightly more prominent scar on her forearm. Dittany could never return the smooth, flawless skin back to her forearm, but it had erased most traces of the horror that had been carved into it all those years ago. She didn’t let her eyes linger too long. Hermione Granger did not hide her scars. They were a reminder of everything she’d been through, and she’d learned a long time ago that trying to hide it only made things worse. 

Her skin had a healthier tone now that summer had arrived and she’d been spending more time outside with her Charms and Transfiguration work. Not exactly tanned, but she did have a nice glow. The frown didn’t leave her brow, though, because as she continued to stare at her image in the mirror, she pondered over her current dilemma for the fifteenth time in the last three minutes: she had no idea what to wear. 

It was her first day working as an Unspeakable at the Ministry of Magic. Her progression through university had been impressive. She’d acquired her degree in charms in two years – half the time it normally takes to complete the program. She’d thrown herself into her studies rigorously, having learned from the war that there was no time to waste in life – it could be snuffed out any second. She’d gone through her first semester at an alarming speed, spending almost every waking second revising and researching and reading and writing. That first Christmas had approached almost too quickly, and it was with dark circles under her eyes and two ink-stained fingertips pressed to her lips that she watched Harry say, “I know you’re trying to live your own life, Hermione, but you can’t forget to…live, y’know?”

It was then she realized how much she missed Harry and Ron, her boys, and every Saturday since then they had dinner together to catch up. Hermione had school, Harry and Ron had Auror training and Harry was expecting his first son to be born, but they never missed a Saturday to remiss and enjoy each other’s company.

Now, two and a half years later, even with her Charms degree and a Mastery on its way, with a head crammed full of advanced Arithmantic equations on which angle she should flick her wand to increase the longevity of a hovering charm, or which crystals she could wear around her neck to resonate with the elemental flow that her wand conjured from the Earth every time she transfigured an object to stabilize the transformation, Hermione still did not have all the answers. In the end, know-it-all Granger couldn’t decide if she should wear the blue robes or the gold robes. 

Somewhere, in another room of her small flat, a bell went off. For the briefest of moments, Hermione froze. Then, it was as if she’d been struck by lightning. All flying limbs and muttered curses, she scrambled from in front of her mirror and into her closet, haphazardly grabbing the first things her hands could grab (which turned out to be a set of charcoal robes lined with crimson silk that she threw over black slacks and a soft, white tank), pulled on her heeled boots in a flash, and knotted her hair on top of her head with her wand in her mouth as she made her way to the front door. Without skipping a beat, she snatched the beaded bag off the small table near her door, nonverbally _Nox_ ed the lights in her flat, and flicked her wrist to lock the door as she scrambled down the stairs.

If she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late!

\--

“You’re going to Romania!”

Hermione felt like she was gaping like a fish. 

It was her first day as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries’ division of Charms and Transfiguration Theory and Research, starting off as an assistant to the assistant of the Head Unspeakable, Helga Grouse. She’d arrived five minutes early, making sure that every speck of lint had been removed from her robes, that no flyaways were sticking out from her tight knot of hair, and that her fingernails were clear of dirt. With an enthusiastic grin and bounce in her step, she’d stepped right in to her designated workspace only to be startled when she saw a completely empty room.

No desk. No chair. Not even a bloody poster.

Blank, stark white walls on all four sides, and gleaming pearl tile met her vision, and she had to blink a couple of times so that her eyes could adjust. She frowned, about to turn on her heel to find someone to escort her to her proper workspace, when a hand had slapped down on her shoulder, nearly scaring her to death.

A tall, young wizard stood next to her, dressed in white robes. He had a dark mop of hair with fringe that nearly fell into his green eyes, and impeccable teeth dazzled her as he grinned at her.

“Ah! You must be Hermione Granger! We’ve been expecting you,” the wizard boomed in an unnecessarily loud voice. She noted he still hadn’t removed his hand from her person.

“My name is Stanley Thudkin, assistant to Helga Grouse,” he continued before Hermione could utter a word. “You’ll be working under me. I see you found your workspace. I’m sorry it’s so bleak, but we haven’t had time to fully furnish it for you. We’re very busy at the moment, but no worries there! You won’t need the workspace for a while yet. You’re going to Romania!”

Gape, gape.

“Ah, you must be excited,” Stanley misinterpreted, but he finally managed to remove his hand and motioned her to follow him. They began to walk down the corridor, and he spoke to her without giving her a chance to interrupt. “Our partners in Romania are having a nasty case of Dragon Pox spread across the country. Apparently, one of the dragons they’ve been studying caught a cold, sneezed on one of the trainers, and then bam! Everyone and their mum in Romania is sick with Dragon Pox. They’ve requested our help to set up wards around their facility to help quarantine the situation, since we’re the only ones who can charm the wards just right to prevent the flow of the Dragon Pox escaping. You’ll be working with Charlie Weasley in the situation. Do you know him?”

Hermione managed to nod once before Stanley continued.

“You’ll be leaving tonight through Portkey, and we expect you’ll be over there for two weeks. I trust you know how to charm yourself to prevent the contamination of Dragon Pox from entering your body while you’re there, correct?” He didn’t give her time to nod this time. “Ah, here we are! My office. Let me give you you’re scroll with your orders on them, and off to the library for you! I expect you to touch up on some of your warding, since it isn’t a primary study in Charms work. After that, you may leave to pack your things at home. Your Portkey to Romania leaves at eight sharp. Do you have any questions? No? Good! Have fun in the library!”

With that, the door to Stanley Thudkin’s office slammed in her face, leaving her staring helplessly at its finely polished surface with a scroll wrapped in gold ribbon dangling from her fingertips.

\--

It was her third hour in the Ministry’s expansive library. She’d just finished reading the last paragraph of a chapter titled Seamlessly Integrating Charms and Wards with the Right Crystals when she saw him for the first time in almost three years. 

She’d just happened to look up from her page at just the right time to see something the registered in her mind as a “familiar billow”. Furrowing her brows in confusion, she decided she could do for a quick stretch and placed the heavy tome she’d been hunching over on the table in front of her. Her boots clicked audibly against the impeccably polished surface of the marble floored library as she began to walk, stretching her arms over her head as she scanned the empty aisles, searching for what had previously caught her eye. Thinking she’d probably been imagining it, she almost gave up and returned to her seat when she found the object of her search standing at the very end of the last aisle.  
She froze, her mouth slack in amazement at what she saw.

He stood, facing her, with his head dipped low into the cover of a thick manual. He didn’t seem to notice she was standing there, as his brow was furrowed in concentration. Even from where she stood, memories of how much he towered over her flooded her mind as she took in his familiar height. He wore rich, dark robes, and she noted that they seemed tailored to his form, just like they had during her school years at Hogwarts. His skin looked much healthier than it had that last time she saw him, though she made note that he’d had much less blood flowing through his veins at that time. His hooked nose still struck her as his most prominent feature, but what screamed out the most to her was that most of his hair was missing.

Instead of the sheet of oily, stringy hair that had hung around his face during her school years, his hair now stood out in short, uneven tufts no longer than her index fingers. It looked as if he’d had a bad haircut earlier in the year, and he was letting it grow back out. It was messy, and almost reminded her of Harry’s hair, except that she remembered that this man was the epitome of _anti-Harry_. Not only that, but it looked remarkably clean and soft to the touch.  
Without the curtain of hair to hide his face, she could see that the lines of stress and premature aging that had riddled his features only three years prior were nearly nonexistent. He looked countless years younger, and even though he was deep in concentration, the absence of the harsh lines marring his face gave him an…appealing air.

Hermione gasped at her last though.

Severus Snape’s head snapped up from his manual, his gaze meeting hers.

Ice flooded her veins. Even though he looked different, she knew that Snape had been a nasty, acidic man, and didn’t appreciate being ogled. She’d expected him to come bearing down on her in an instant, chastise her for her inability to keep to her own business, make a cold comment about how she was an insatiable know-it-all, and maybe even insult her hair.

Except, he didn’t.

He only watched her for a few brief seconds, without a hint of malice or rage. In fact, he didn’t seem to recognize her. He looked at her with calculating regard, as if he was to trying to figure out who she was. She only stared back, unable to move.

She was staring down Severus Snape and she was going to live to tell the tale. _Amazing_.

Something clicked, and she saw her identity dawn on him as recognition filled his eyes. She expected a sneer, or a scowl, or a glare.

Instead, he smirked.

Hermione nearly fainted.

The smirk remained on his lips as his he lowered his gaze from her, returning to his manual. He’d clearly dismissed her, even though it wasn’t in the typical “fury of the storm” fashion she’d anticipated. She continued to watch him for a few extra seconds, taking in how his brow furrowed into that look of concentration once more, and noted that the smirk remained plastered where it was, never disappearing.

What a first day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not mine, no money.

****

**

Chapter 2

**

****

He rapped his knuckles against her office door, waiting a few seconds for her to bid her entrance. He hadn’t seen her in three days, but he knew she would be in her office, even if it was after hours – she always was these days.

When he didn’t hear anything from beyond the door, he knocked again, louder this time. Still, nothing.

He grasped the handle, turning it swiftly. It yielded to his touch, and he opened the unlocked door of her office and stepped inside.

At first, he had trouble finding her. Her office was a storing house of documents, tomes, abandoned gadgets and one, solitary tea set. Even though everything was neat and orderly, it was still rather crowded. He still managed to find her at her desk, with her head in her arms, hair fanned out and covering her face. Her breathing was slow.

She was asleep.

He closed the door as quietly as he could, making sure his footsteps were silent as he made his way to the chair in front of her desk and took a seat. He simply watched her and the way an errant curl moved under the soft stream of air she breathed out of her mouth. Her deep burgundy robes were crumpled around her small form. Compared to all of the clutter on her desk and massive amount of junk in her office, she seemed too tiny, splayed out on her desk like that.  
He understood why she would have been exhausted.

Ever since the murder of Charlie Weasley, Hermione Granger had done everything she could to aid the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in their search for the murderer. She’d nearly drained herself completely dry from the strain she’d gone through to break the charms on the poison she’d presented to him, and after that he was nearly positive she’d only slept a wink or two since then. The last he’d heard, she was trying to develop a scry that would aid in the search for the creator of the poison.

Deathfire, they’d called it. 

He didn’t dare correct them.

He pondered on waking her, taking only a few more selfish seconds to watch her, before he leaned forward and placed his hand on her arm.

“Granger,” he whispered, giving her arm a small shake. She didn’t budge.

“Granger…” He shook her arm a little harder and spoke louder, but all he heard was soft whimper escape her lips under the riotous mass of curls. He nearly smiled.

“Hermione!”

She shot up in a flurry of curls and robes, one arm flailing while the other remained pinned under his much larger hand. She even squeaked, having to claw at her hair to clear her vision before cinnamon eyes finally peeked out and landed on him.

“Oh, Severus…” She breathed a sigh of relief as she recognised him, and then he did smile, even if it was only a little bit. “I’m so sorry, I must have dozed off.”

“Don’t apologise, woman. It’s nearly nine, and you’ve been working nonstop for almost a week.” His voice, even though it had lost its domineering boom, still held a stern undertone. She only gave him an apologetic look from behind red-rimmed eyes.

“Ah, coming from the man who is still here at almost nine as well,” she chided back gently, smiling at as she did so. She did love to tease him. She also failed to pull her arm away from his gasp.

He said nothing of it. 

“I come with news.” He pulled a scroll out of his robes with his free hand, waving it in front of her. “This is my report to the MLE. I successfully broke down the components of the poison, and managed to separate them by volume. I believe I have the original formula, and based on what I found, I think the source of the poison is located somewhere in southern India.”

He’d avoided her eyes as he explained, but when he felt something clamp down on the hand he had on her arm, he saw that she now had her free hand on top of his. Her smaller, more fragile hand, with its flawless skin and pink, healthy fingernails, pressed down on his in a tight squeeze. He looked up to her face, and what he saw made him hold his breath.

Relief. Reverence. Something else he couldn’t identify.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and something glittered in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, and her smile became watery. “Thank you so much, Severus.”

His gaze lingered for an extra second, before he averted his eyes to the top of her desk.

“Just doing my job, Granger,” he mumbled. She squeezed his hand again, and they remained in silence like that for long moments. When he looked back at her face, her eyes were also averted as well, but fresh tears had begun to trek down her cheeks. He frowned.

“Come on, Granger, let’s get you home.” He stood up then, dislodging his hand from her arm, and tried not to acknowledge how it felt so much colder without her hand there. She began to protest, but he silenced her with a glare and she nodded, snatching her beaded bag from her desk and walking around to stand beside him. She flashed him another watery smile, and he could already sense how some of the tension had left her shoulders.

His news had given her some relief. That was his ultimate goal.

They walked side by side in companionable silence out of her office and towards the Ministry Floos. The crown of her head barely reached his shoulder, so he was able to glance sidelong at her without raising suspicions.

Once they reached the Floos, her hand darted out to catch his arm before he could grab a pinch of powder for her. She grabbed both of his arms at his wrist, and let her thumb run over the space where his Dark Mark had once been through the fabric of his shirt. She looked up at him with that smile again, and he felt his own hands clasping her wrists out of their own accord.

“I know you were just doing your job, Severus,” she said in that tired, worn-out voice. “And I know you’re absolutely brilliant. Still, it means so much to me…”

Something inside of him broke.

She closed the space between them and stood on the tips of her toes to ghost a chaste kiss to his cheek. She lingered an extra moment, her warm breath tickling his neck, before letting go of his arms and stepping back.

His face burned.

She flashed him another smile before throwing a pinch of powder into the floo, calling out her address, and disappearing in a swirl of green fire.

* * *

__

Four years ago.

The second time she saw Severus Snape, it had been nearly a year after she’d started working for the Ministry. After returning from Romania, and striking up a surprisingly refreshing friendship with Charlie, she’d visited the library a little more frequently than she normally did.

Because she was Hermione Granger, that meant she was in the library a lot.

However, no matter how many late nights she spent in the library, researching theories on Transfiguration that hadn’t been touched in several centuries, or taking notes out of a more modern text on how to synchronise the core of a wand   
to the elemental core of one’s magic, she never saw the ghost of the “familiar billow” out of the corner of her eye.

After a while, she began to believe she’d just been dreaming it. A Professor Snape that didn’t snap, scold, scowl, or sneer? A Professor Snape with short hair and “appealing” features? Bollocks to that, she _must_ have been smoking something.

She’d given up on trying to find him again after a couple of months, finally concluding that even if she did see him, what would she possibly say to him? _Oh, hello Professor, nice haircut. Oh yeah, sorry for leaving you to die in the Shrieking Shack like that. Glad it all worked out in the end, though. Wanna grab a pint?_

Right.

After six months of being the assistant to the assistant of Helen Grouse, Stanley Thudkin moved to Jamaica, so she was automatically bumped up to his position. After three months of working diligently for Grouse, she was recognized for completing her Mastery in Charms and finishing her degree in Transfiguration. Grouse took to Hermione fairly quickly, and before she knew it, Hermione was head of her own team of researchers.

On a Friday afternoon, when Hermione was locking the door to her office, she heard footsteps walking down the corridor. She paid no mind, reaching into her beaded bag for her umbrella since she knew it was raining outside. She was still facing her office door, maneuvering through tampons, spare silverware, and a French landscape painting she’d been meaning to hang in her flat for months now, when it caught her eye.

The billow.

The _familiar billow._

Hermione’s head shot up, and all she saw was tail end of dark robes turning the corner before disappearing out of sight. She stood there, frozen, her arm down the elbow in her beaded bag, contemplating what she should do.  
Follow him? Go home? Take her hand out of her bag because she was pretty sure she’d just smashed open an old ketchup packet?

Nope, mustard.

With a muttered _Tergeo_ , Hermione made up her mind.

She nearly sprinted in the direction of the billow.

\--

Hermione pouted.

She stood outside of the Muggle building that disguised the Ministry of Magic, soaking wet. Her curls were heavy from the pouring rain and matted against her hair and neck. She’d removed her robes before leaving the Ministry, as her flat was located in Muggle London, and it would be strange if she was seen walking the streets dressed as if she’d come straight out of fantasy film. Sometime after she’d given up her search for Professor Snape, she’d yanked her umbrella out of her beaded bag to prepare to leave.

First, the umbrella snagged on the spare fork she kept in her bag, ripping a hole clear across the top.

After repairing the damage with her wand, she’d been walking next to the Floos when she tripped over absolutely nothing. “Are you _kidding_ me?!” she had screamed when her umbrella flew out of her hand and into the Floo of a Ministry employee disappearing in a swoosh of green flames, taking the umbrella with him. 

She’d taken the telephone booth up to the Muggle streets, hoping the rain had stopped by then. Sadly, once she reached the top and stepped out, it seemed that sky had split open and was dumping everything it had on the poor streets of London, and she was going to have to walk ten blocks in the rain.

Hermione pouted, glaring at the ground.

Her day hadn’t started off so bad. Where had she gone wrong? Was this the punishment she received for trying to find Professor Snape? She knew he was a private man, so maybe she shouldn’t have tried to impose upon him, even though she _never even found him._

She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there when she suddenly realized she no longer felt the pitter patter of falling rain on top of her head. Also, it seemed like there was a dark shadow hovering over her as well. Was something blocking the rain?

When she lifted her head to see what was blocking the rain, she felt her clothes and hair dry in an instant. No doubt, her hair had puffed out in a cloud of frizz from the wandless magic. When her eyes finally met the source of the large   
shadow and wandless spell, her mouth slackened in surprise.

Severus Snape was standing in front of her, holding a black umbrella over her head while the rain poured down on him instead. He wasn’t wearing his robes, but a dark grey shirt with the cuffs rolled up to the elbow that was tucked into black trousers. He still had his dragonhide boots, which looked faded and worn.

_His hair has grown_ , she couldn’t help but note as she gaped at him like a fish out of water. It was still extremely short compared to what she was used to seeing him with, but it fell down to his ears now in uneven lengths. It was still rich and jet black, but oh, did it look so clean.

His face had even improved. The ghost of age lines she’d seen a year ago were now completely gone. In the four years since the war ended, Severus Snape had gone through a complete transformation. It looked as if he’d been sent back in time. His skin was healthier, his hair was cleaner, his face looked younger. He looked so… _healthy_.

Except, he was scowling at her.

Oh, right.

He was Professor Snape, after all. She’d nearly forgotten he could scowl after she saw him smirk nearly a year ago.

Instantly, Hermione felt her cheeks flush and grow hot, and before she could stammer out her apology for taking up his time staring at him with her jaw practically unhinged, he gestured with the hand that held the umbrella over her head.  
He wanted her to take the umbrella.

She looked at him questioningly, but he only quirked his eyebrow at her and gestured again. She looked down at the hand that held the umbrella. His hand was much larger than hers. His fingers were long and elegant, but sturdy. They were the hands of a Potions Master.

And on the wrist of the Potions Master, she could see the faded scar where the Dark Mark had once been.

She frowned.

Looking back up at him one more time, she saw that he knew what she’d been looking at. His eyes had averted to the side, and he looked positively upset. Did he think she was judging him? Of course he did! She was frowning at the ghost   
of his past like it was going to eat her or something. She instantly felt ashamed for her actions.

She didn’t know what possessed her to do it, but to make amends, she reached out to him with both hands. With one hand, she grasped the small portion of the handle peeking out of her former professor’s grasp so she could take it from him. She clasped her other hand gently around his wrist.

She wasn’t looking at him, especially since she was probably beet red if the heat radiating off her cheeks was any sign, but she knew he’d snapped his head toward her when he felt her hand. She maintained her composure, determined to finish what she started.

Her fingers were on the back of his wrist, while her thumb was placed just above the faded Dark Mark on his forearm. Slowly, she slid her fingers downward. Her thumb brushed against the faded scar, and she was surprised when she felt nothing but slightly raised skin. There was no looming darkness or the faint presence of evil still resonating from the mark. There was nothing but a scar.

She paused, absentmindedly brushing her thumb over the scar from side to side, before finally sliding her fingers down the back of his hand and her thumb down his palm. When she let go, she noticed his hand lingered in the air for the briefest of seconds before it fell to his side.

Hermione looked back up at his face, trying to convey through her smile that she was not judging him. No, she only remembered what old scars felt like, and it pained her to see his.

He wasn’t scowling anymore. In fact, the same calculating expression he’d worn a year earlier was now over his features, and she only smiled at him, hoping he could see. After a few long, drawn out moments of nothing but the rain falling around them, the calculating expression disappeared.

He smirked.

Her eyes widened, but before she could say anything, he’d turned on his heel and started walking down the street, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked in the rain. She now stood there with his umbrella in her hand, completely dry and severely confused.

Did she just have some sort of connection with Professor Snape? What was he smirking at this time? Why did her belly feel so warm on the inside?

Why did the fingertips she’d placed on his skin still tingle? 

\--

After a long Saturday spent with Harry and Ron and a long, lazy Sunday morning spent musing over her Friday afternoon, she returned to work the following Monday well rested. Something caught her eye while she was walking toward the lift in the Atrium. Charmed into the ceiling were usually announcements about upcoming events, promotions of higher-ups, current news and some sort of daily, positive message meant to inspire and intrigue. When she glanced up, she was instantly glued to the spot form what she saw.

There, covering nearly a quarter of the ceiling, was the picture of Severus Snape, looking bemusedly upon the crowd below.

Underneath his picture, in large, glowing green letters, read, “Welcome Severus Snape, the new Head of the Division of Research to Contain and Regulate the Dark Arts.”


	3. Chapter 3

****

**

Chapter Three

**

****

He didn’t know when he’d become such a trusted member of society. Maybe it started when his whole bloody past had been printed on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ for everyone and their mum to see. Maybe it was when he was exonerated of the murder of Albus Dumbledore, after spending months in Courtroom Ten, fighting for his freedom.

Maybe it was a year after he began his post as the Head of the Division of Research to Contain and Regulate the Dark Arts, when he’d published his research on a new shield that could block the Cruciatus Curse.

He still wasn’t used to it.

Somewhere, somehow, in the last eight years since the end of the war, one of the most despised men in the Wizarding World was now respected and trusted, and he hadn’t fully appreciated it until the Aurors were on their way to southern India in search of the origins of Deathfire.

While they were scrounging around in that overcrowded country, looking for any clues that could lead to the murderer of four wizards and one witch, Severus Snape was in Greece, heading for a very little known, underground establishment in the center of Athens, where only one witch resided.

He’d had to disassemble wards of stunning complexity before the wooden door materialized in thin air. He opened it, slamming it shut behind him as he made his way down a narrow stairway. Torches sprang to life as he trudged down the  
steps, their light wavering and unsteady. He muttered curses underneath his breath the entire way.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he reached the last step, but he was more than glad to be standing in a wide expanse of room at last instead of narrow passageway. The room had been carved out of earth underneath the city above, wooden panels magicked against the walls and doors to keep out the underground creepers. It was a large room, sparsely furnished but well lit.

In the corner, on a mound of fine, richly colored silk pillows, sat a witch. She had dark, mocha skin and waves of black, glossy hair. Her legs were crossed and her eyes were closed, but as his dragonhide boots echoes against the floorboards, her eyes opened to reveal slate grey irises.

She studied him for a moment, but he paid no mind. He was not here for a friendly chat, and had no interest in her opinion of him. Her emotionless expression slowly morphed into one of amused intrigue as a feral grin began to split her features.

“Severus Snape,” she spoke in a rich, Hungarian accent. “It has been years since you last stepped through my door. The last time I heard your name, it was from a traveler who mentioned you had your throat torn out by a snake.”

He felt his lip curl reflexively into a sneer.

“Velonica,” he nearly spat out at her.

She laughed, a rich sound from the back of her throat. “My, my, Snape, you don’t sound pleased to see me. After all we’ve been through, and you have such a tone towards me? What is your qualm?”

Reaching into his cloak, he retrieved a blue vial and tossed it to her. She caught it gracefully, holding it up in the air to let the light dance off the crystal. Then, she uncorked the vial and placed it against her nose, inhaling the contents with  
a big whiff.

Anyone else would have been chastised for inhaling the fumes of an unknown substance, but Snape knew better. She knew exactly what she was doing.

When she looked back up at him, her eyes were narrowed to slits. She slowly lifted herself off of the mound of pillows, her grin disappearing to be replaced by a look of suspicion. He reached for his wand reflexively as she glided over to where he stood, carefully studying his form. She circled him once, taking everything in with stony eyes, before stopping a few feet in front of him.

“Why have you brought this to me?” It was a deadly whisper.

“Five are dead as a result of that poison,” he replied, fingering his wand in his robes.

“I do not sell this to any of my clients,” the witch retorted, her once playful tone completely gone. “I have only disclosed the ingredients of this poison to a select few of my apprentices, all of whom are dead. Except you.”

“I did not brew this.” His voice was a low growl.

“Not even for your precious Dark Lord?”

“He was your precious Dark Lord as well, witch.”

“Tsk, tsk. You speak to your Master this way?”

“You haven’t been my Master for almost thirty years.” 

“Nevertheless, Snape, you are where you are now because of me.”

Silence fell over the room as they both glared at each other. His knuckles were white from the grip he had on his wand.

“Are you an Auror, Snape?” she questioned, breaking the silence after several tense moments.

“No.”

“Then why are you here instead of your Ministry’s lapdogs?”

“I remember how you value your…privacy.”

“My privacy?” The dark-skinned witch barked out a laugh that held no mirth. “Then what is _she_ doing here?”

Velonica’s eyes settled on something over his shoulder. His eyes widened, and he spun on his heel toward the entrance where a lone figure was standing. Something clenched in his gut as his eyes met those of the witch standing at the entrance, who was watching him with an expression of bewilderment, fear, and…hurt.

“Hermione…”

* * *

_Three years ago_

.

Hermione sighed softly in the lift that was lowering her down to the Atrium. It had been a long day. Three months ago, she’d been promoted to Head Unspeakable of the Division of Charms and Transfiguration Theory and Research after Helen Grouse retired to the countryside. Not only was she the youngest Head of any division in the Ministry, but she had also been promoted faster than anyone else in almost three centuries. Her determination and dedication to her work had been proven priceless as she’d made her way up in the ranks, and she’d been a natural choice for Grouse's position.

However, running a whole division was tiring. Her feet were aching despite the cushioning charms she’d placed on her boots, her hair looked frazzled from the latent magic clinging to her body from the charmwork she’d been demonstrating to her team that day, and all she wanted right now was a hot dinner and cold beer. That’s why she was on her way to the Atrium to meet up with Harry. They were going to Grimmauld Place to pick up Ginny and go out for drinks.

She skimmed the piece of parchment in her hand one more time. It was a letter from Charlie. Since her visit to Romania, they corresponded through owl every other day. He told her about his research on the new Hungarian dragon he’d started training, and she wrote back about the life of a Head Unspeakable. 

_This Acid-Breather is a doozy, Hermione. If it weren’t for the charm you taught me last year, I’m nearly positive all of us would be dead from the fumes that come out of its mouth. It’s absolutely ghastly and downright fatal if you stick around too long. One whiff of the stuff and you’re in a trance so deep you don’t even realize he’s about to chomp your head off! He’s a git, this one. Nearly tore Wei’s arm off the other day!_

The lift stuttered to a stop at the Atrium floor, and she stepped out quickly, immediately searching for Harry while pocketing Charlie’s letter. The area was crowded with witches and wizards on their way home after a long day of work, ready to return to their families. She frowned as she scanned all of the faces, walking slowly through the crowd to try and find her best friend.

A few minutes passed before she finally found him, her eyes landing on a mop of messy black hair. Harry was standing nearly halfway across the Atrium, dressed in his Auror’s robes. She smiled, picking up the pace to make her way over to him. It wasn’t until she was halfway there that she realized he was speaking to someone. She slowed down, and finally came to a halt in the middle of the crowded room when she realized who he was talking to.

Severus Snape stood across from Harry Potter, draped in solid black robes tailored specifically to his frame. His hair was the shortest she’d ever seen it, still in uneven tufts. She was beginning to think he cut it himself. What surprised her most was that the two wizards were speaking amicably with each other. She couldn’t detect a single hint of rage or unpleasantness on either of their faces.

They looked like…friends, having a good chat.

Had she missed something?

She watched them talking, completely engrossed in the conversation she could not hear. Harry was talking now, gesturing with his hands as he told some kind of story. Snape was watching him and listening intently with a hint of interest on his face.

It still amazes me, she admitted to herself silently. Severus Snape was still alive. He was healthier than he’d ever been, Head Unspeakable of his own Division, and slowly becoming an icon in the Ministry. She’d heard whispers of his work on creating counter-curses for the Unforgivables. If he succeeded, he would once again become a hero to the Wizarding World.

It would be one year next week since he’d joined the Ministry in the Division of Research to Contain and Regulate the Dark Arts. Being a fellow Unspeakable, she’d expected to see him more often. That had not been the case. In the last year, she’d only seen him a couple of times down the hallways, making his way to places unknown. She’d attempted to catch up with him a couple of times in order to express her thanks for the umbrella, but she never managed to keep up.  
Heat flooded her cheeks as memories of that rainy day one year ago flooded her thoughts. Her fingertips tingled.

At that exact moment, Snape’s eyes darted from Harry and landed on her in an instant. Her breath hitched, and she was sure he could see her burning cheeks from where he stood. Her heartbeat began to race. Was he going to be mad that she was staring at him? She hadn’t meant to stare, but she couldn’t help how intriguing this new Snape was. How had he found her so quickly in the crowd? Was he…was he _smirking_ at her?

She hadn’t thought it was possible, but her cheeks flushed to an even deeper shade of crimson.

Harry seemed to notice that Snape was no longer paying attention and turned to see what he was looking at. Upon seeing Hermione, he waved at her and motioned for her to join them. It nearly took all of her willpower, but she managed to tear her eyes from Snape’s bottomless depths and turned to smile at her best friend, rushing over to them. She was met with a warm hug from Harry.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Hermione,” Harry said when he let her go. “Were you rushing? Your cheeks are a little pink.”

“Yes!” She lied a little too quickly, and she could practically feel Snape’s smirk burning into her back. “I was running a little late.”

“No worries, you’re here now. I was just talking to Severus here. We bumped into each other and started chatting.”

Severus.

Harry Potter was referring to Snape by _his first name_.

She had definitely missed something.

Hermione finally turned to face Snape. She hadn’t been in such close proximity to him since the day in the rain nearly a year ago. Now that he was finally within her grasp, she found that her tongue felt too heavy to speak.

“Miss Granger,” he greeted when she said nothing. “It has been…a while.”

His voice, was the first thing that came to the front of her mind. It was rough, not at all like the silky baritone from her school years. It was still deep, although significantly softer, and held absolutely no venom. Slowly, this was surprising her less and less. It seemed every time she showed up, he had a smirk on his lips.

He was a completely different person, and she was finding herself completely and utterly intrigued.

“Mr. Snape, it is good to see you,” she managed to get out, smiling when she realized she could speak without stuttering in his presence. “How do you like it here at the Ministry?”

“It suits me well enough.” He almost seemed amused. Could he tell she was nervous?

“That’s good to hear.” She smiled genuinely at him. “I’ve heard talk of your research around the office. Are you really working on counter-curses for the Unforgivables?”

“Actually, it’s a shield for the Cruciatus curse.”

“Amazing! A shield? How close are you to completing your research? Do you have the incantation down? Have you incorporated the Crystal Magnetic Theory into –“ A hand on her shoulder cut her off, and she turned to see Harry looking at her with a broad smile.

“You’re doing again, ‘Mi,” he chided playfully.

She glanced over at Snape and saw that he was smirking at her with a knowing look in his eyes.

“I…I’m sorry, Mr. Snape,” she said with a tight smile, honestly disappointed she wouldn’t be able to pick his brain about his research. She found it quite fascinating.

“Do not apologise. You can come by my office at any time if you would like answers to your questions.”

She should have been surprised that he was actually agreeing to answer her questions, nevermind the fact he was also inviting her to his office. However, she was beginning to suspect that this was the new normal.

“I will definitely take you up on that offer.” She didn’t think her smile could get any bigger.

“Actually, Severus,” Harry cut in, “you could join us this evening. Ginny, Hermione and I are going to the Three Broomsticks for some drinks, and it would be my pleasure if you’d join us.”

_Please say yes._

That was the first thing Hermione thought after Harry’s proposal. She couldn’t quite explain it, but something about the man standing before her was drawing her in. During her school years, she’d respected him to no end. Even during the last year of the war, when they’d all been on the run, she had racked her brain over and over again for signs of Snape’s innocence. Everything about the entire situation had seemed off, and even though her trust in him had taken a severe blow, she’d never fully believed he was a traitor.

Now, five years after the war’s end, she was looking into the eyes of a different man. From the limited amount of time she’d already spent in his presence, she’d already noticed the significant differences he displayed from the professor of her school days. He was practically amiable, but behind those bottomless depths, she could sense the strength of the spy that had protected them all those years ago.

Wait, when had he started staring at her so intensely like that?

She was frozen to the spot. Snape’s eyes were locked on to hers. He looked as if he was searching for something from her, but she couldn’t quite figure out what. Did he want her approval to join them? She smiled at him, nodding once, ever so slightly.

Snape smiled. It was faint, the corners of his lips barely quirking upward, but it was a smile.

“I think I will.”

\--

“You are nervous.”

The atmosphere changed. A moment before, the pub had been so noisy she could barely hear her own thoughts as she waited for the round of drinks she’d just ordered. In an instant, the noise had faded to a soft, distant buzz as a nonverbal _Muffliato_ was cast, followed by a faint Notice-Me-Not charm. She almost jumped at the sudden voice in her ear, but managed to keep her cool as she glanced across her shoulder to see Snape taking the barstool next to hers.

There was amusement in his tone, as well as curiosity. 

She bit her lip, trying to formulate a response. She couldn’t bloody well lie to the most talented Legilimens in Great Britain, now could she?

When she took too long to respond, his eyes glittered with mirth.

“I can practically see the cogs turning in your head, Miss Granger. The brightest witch of our age has been left speechless by a simple sentence? My, how the times have changed.”

She frowned.

“Are you here to mock me, Mr. Snape?” They’d only been at the Three Broomsticks for half an hour, and hadn’t shared many words. Harry, Snape, and herself had Apparated directly to Hogsmeade to meet Ginny. From there, Snape and Harry had been in deep conversation about Ministry matters and cooperation between both of their departments, while she caught up with Ginny about the children.

Two rounds later, it had been her turn to grab the drinks, so she’d made her way to the bar. Had he followed her to criticise her? To make fun of her? Had she been wrong about how much he’d changed since the end of the war?  
If her confusion hadn’t shown before, it definitely did when he chuckled.

“Of course not. I am only teasing you. You are very tense right now.”

Teasing her…

He was teasing her.

Her cheeks grew warm, and she came to the conclusion that this man was going to be the death of her. 

He was right, of course. She was nervous. This man, who she'd been so curious about for almost two years, was now directly in front of her and she had no idea what to say. She wanted to know more about him, and even though it seemed like he wasn’t out to purposefully antagonize her, he still gave off a dark vibe. Severus Snape was no tame puppy, and she was sure of that.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“You are apologising unnecessarily once again. Also, drop the formalities. I am no longer your professor, and we are equals at the Ministry. You may call me Severus.”

Had it been that easy for Harry?

Her cheeks were on fire now.

“Then you must call me Hermione.” She offered a weak smile.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Hermione?” This time, there was no amusement in his tone, only curiosity.

“I…” Her eyes moved to the countertop.

“You avert your eyes. You cannot finish your sentences. You didn’t seem this tense at the Ministry. What is different now?”

She worried her lower lip with her teeth once again, trying to find the right response.

“You…” She sighed, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Might as well come out with it.

She looked back up at him. The mirth had left his eyes, and he watched her with expectancy.

“You’re here, sir – Severus.” Her brow furrowed at her slip. “You’re here, having a drink with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, the banes of your existence. You talk to Harry like he’s an old friend, you offer to answer my questions as if you’d never called me an insufferable know-it-all in your entire life, and you…look so different. It’s _all_ so different. The last time I was this close to you, I thought you were dead.”

His face had become expressionless, and she wondered if he was Occluding. Had she upset him with her words? They were all true, though. This new perspective of the man was throwing her for a loop, and she didn’t know how long it would take for her to get used it. She felt outrageously guilty, though. Hadn’t she mentally screamed at him to join them for the evening?

“You and Harry Potter never were the banes of my existence. Harry is not an old friend, but in a distant future, he may well be. I offered to answer your questions because I value anyone who is truly interested in my research, and I am certainly not dead.”

She flicked her eyes up back to his face, unclear on what he was trying to tell her.

The longest moment of her life passed before he slipped off the barstool. She thought he was going to leave after her outburst, but instead, he took a step closer to her. He began to roll up the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt until they were at his elbows. Then, with palms up, he displayed his bare forearms to her.

Her eyes immediately snapped to the faded scare of the Dark Mark, barely discernible against his pale skin.

“I used to be a man under a great deal of stress, fighting for times of peace like the one we have now. I had no reason to trust anyone, therefore I had no reason to like anyone. I kept my distances by using my sharp tongue to build borders, and if I hurt you in any way, I apologise. The Dark Lord is dead now, and I no longer have my burden to bear.”

Something clicked, and she reached out and grabbed both of his exposed wrists, running her thumb over the faded Dark Mark. He was apologising for his actions during her school years. He was bearing his wrists to her to prove that he was no longer a Death Eater – he was a man who answered to no one.

He was his own person. A different man.

She felt so stupid for being nervous, and felt hot tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

He glanced at the hold she had on his wrists, lingering on her thumb absentmindedly skimming over his scar. When he looked back up at her, there was something different in his eyes. He seemed…content.

“I find that the people I ignored in previous years aren’t as bad as I made them out to be,” he finished, and his lips quirked up into a now familiar smirk.

A new beginning.

She smiled brightly at him, blinking back the tears that had threatened to spill and squeezing his wrists reassuringly.

“You have no need to be nervous,” he murmured. “You’ll find I’m much more approachable than I was six years ago.”

She ran her thumb over his scar one last time, finally becoming aware of her actions and releasing him. Her cheeks burned fiercely, and she turned to face the bar once more. She was sure she heard him chuckle lightly next to her.

“I’m sorry I set your robes on fire in my first year,” she blurted out after long moments passed. She feared she would faint from embarrassment, but he’d apologised to her, and she found herself needing to return the favor.

“I knew it was you.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “Minerva owes me ten Galleons.”

She turned her head to look at him. He hadn’t sat back down, but was leaning casually against the bar, facing the opposite direction. He was looking right back at her.

She heard the sound of rain falling in the back of her mind.

“Thank you for your help with the rain…”

Just then, the sound of the pub came rushing back as the Muffliato was cancelled and four pints were slammed down on the counter in front of her. She wasn’t sure if it had been her imagination, but as Severus turned around to grab two of the pints for her, she thought she heard him respond, “Thank you for not running away.”


	4. Chapter 4

****

**

Chapter Four

**

****

Everything seemed to happen all at once.

She’d been staring at him with a look of such betrayal that his chest ached. He’d seen that look on only one other witch, what seemed like a lifetime ago, and he had never wanted to experience this feeling ever again.

Especially from Hermione.

However, the look vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. Suddenly, she was looking behind him and her expression morphed into one of fear. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see Velonica aim her wand at Hermione.

Something inside of him snapped.

With a snarl, he spun on his heel and slammed his forearm into Velonica’s throat, effectively silencing the curse about to leave her lips and throwing her to the ground. He pinned her wand arm against the floorboards with one arm and her torso with the other as she began to struggle violently.

“What has got into you?” he roared. Velonica did not respond as she continued to thrash, swinging her head side to side and kicking her legs underneath him. “Answer me, woman! Why did you try to attack her?”

And that’s when he saw it.

_“Petrificus Totalus!”_

The struggling stopped, but he did not remove his hand from her wand arm. Instead, he used his other hand to grip her chin and turn her head towards him. When he saw her eyes, he understood. They were dull and hazy, as if they’d been fogged over.

She was being controlled.

It wasn’t the familiar haze of the Imperius curse he’d learned to recognise during the years he’d spent in the ranks of the Dark Lord. Her actions were being controlled through some other method, and he needed to find out now.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” he spat, and he entered her mind.

The fog inside of her mind was much denser than he’d expected. He could only see her memories of their recent conversation, what she ate for breakfast two days ago, and sensed the surprise she felt when she walked into her home and saw a dark figure standing at the entrance two months ago. The figure was unidentifiable, blurred beyond recognition by the evident tampering of the woman’s memories.

He tore his mind out of hers roughly, letting go of her chin. He grabbed her wand out of her hand and tossed it to the other side of the room before finally standing up, brushing imaginary dust off of his robes.

Questions raced through his mind. Who was controlling his former Master, and through what means? Why were they using her? Was it connected to the Deathfire?

He turned toward Hermione again, already formulating a plan to get her back to London, only to be met with stern eyes and a wand pointed at his head. He mentally sighed as the look of shock and hurt returned to her features.

“Hermione – “

“Who is that woman, Severus?” Her voice was hard and untrusting. He was not surprised.

“Her name is Velonica.”

“Why did she try to attack me?”

“I have reason to believe she is under the influence of a manipulation spell.”

“Manipulation…? She’s been Imperiused?” 

“Not quite. Hermione, we need to leave –“

“Don’t change the subject!” She shouted at him, shaking her wand for emphasis. No one could stop the bushy-haired witch when she was out for answers. “Why are you here and why is that woman being manipulated?”

He cringed inwardly as the look of pleading registered in her eyes. She was hoping he had a good answer. She didn’t want to be betrayed.

“I came here to see if I could find more information on the source of the Deathfire. I was Velonica’s apprentice many years ago, and she once told me of a poison very similar to Deathfire. Its name is Örök. The only key difference between the two poisons is that Örök causes the victims internal organs to simply shut down, one by one, while Deathfire causes them to disintegrate. I believed Velonica would have some answers.”

Now that she was here, he had nothing to hide.

She lowered her wand a fraction of an inch.

“If that’s true, why didn’t you send the Aurors here? They’re on some wild goose chase in India right now!”

“Velonica values her privacy. She would not have given the Ministry’s ‘lap dogs’ any information.”

He watched her frown, and saw the confusion settle in her eyes.

“Hermione, please… I came here for you.”

Her eyes widened, and her wand lowered even more. He ran a hand through the curtain of hair that hung to his jawline and took a step closer to her. She didn’t back away.

“I know you want to find the one who is responsible for murdering Charlie Weasley. He was important to you, and you’re important…” _To me._

When had he become such a sap?

He watched her internal struggle play out on her face as she tried to determine whether or not she should believe him. When she finally made her decision, she dropped her wand arm to her side and let out a loud huff of annoyance.

“Severus Snape, you daft man. What have you dragged me into?”

He let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in a scoff. “Dragged? You appeared out of bloody nowhere. Which brings me to a question of my own: How exactly did you know I was here?”

Her cheeks flushed, and he was reminded of a day in the rain, four years ago.

“I’m not a complete moron. I analysed the data you submitted to the Aurors and the ingredients for the potion. While a majority of the ingredients are found in India, black asphodel is only found in Greece. After that, it was just a matter of using the scry I made to find you.” She crossed her arms over her bosom, giving him a look that dared him to question her.

He didn’t. Years after the war and he hated to admit that his espionage skills were becoming a bit rusty.

“Tch. Insufferable swot.”

She smiled at him.

It was glorious.

“We need to leave,” he continued, making his way to the exit. He snatched her hand as he passed by her, leading up the staircase.

“What about her?” He didn’t look back, but knew she had gestured to Velonica.

“She’ll be like that for a few hours. I need to get you back to London and have the Aurors here before she breaks free.” They reached the top of the staircase in record time. He swung the door open, pulling them out and slamming the door behind them. It rippled out of existence.

“Is she responsible for the Deathfire, Severus?” 

He turned to face her, his hand still wrapped around hers. Her face had fallen into a solemn expression, but her eyes bore into his. He could tell she was indecisive about leaving behind the possible killer of her good friend.

“No, I don’t believe so.” He ran his thumb over the back of her hand for emphasis. “The murderer is most likely very near, though, if he is the one controlling her.”

She sighed, and then stepped in closer to him, preparing herself for Side-Along Apparation. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulder, taking an extra second to let the warmth of her body sink into his.

It was a second too long.

Before he could spin on his heel, the world around them began to tremble.

Everything around them seemed to ripple in waves, and slowly the scenery began to fade away, replaced by an endless, black void. He immediately pulled his wand out of his robes as he let Hermione go, pushing her close behind him as he took a protective stance in front of her.

The world seemed to be melting away.

Soon, it seemed they were no longer in Greece, but in an unknown space as black as night. There were no walls, ceiling, or floor, just emptiness. He didn’t know how he was able to see his wand hand, or anything in the new space they were in to begin with.

He was about to pull Hermione in and attempt to Apparate out of their new location when he heard the voice.

“Meddlers. Snooping around where you do not belong.”

It was a familiar voice, and coming from behind him.

“You will not leave here with your lives, wizards.”

He knew that voice.

Hermione did as well.

“Charlie!”

He turned on his heel, shoving Hermione behind his frame as his eyes met those of the red-headed wizard that was perched on top of a dragon.

* * *

__

Two years ago.

She took her seat hurriedly in one of the back rows, already late enough as it was. She’d become engrossed in finishing the Arithmantic calculations on the new stasis charm she’d been working on, and nearly screamed when she realized  
that she was ten minutes late.

She tried to hide her burning cheeks when she saw some of the other wizards give her chastising looks, but soon their attentions were turned elsewhere.

On a podium at the beginning of the room, using a Sonorous charm to boost the volume of his voice stood Severus Snape.  
He was in full lecture mode, and even the alterations the snake bite had made to his voice couldn’t change the effect that it had on his audience. Everyone listened intently to every word – partly because he was unveiling something the Wizarding World had never seen before , but mostly because memories of the infamous Potions Master haunted their thoughts from their schooldays, and they feared the punishment if they didn’t pay attention.

Hermione was beaming as she watched him. 

This was the official unveiling of _Protego Anima_ , the shield to protect its caster from the Cruciatus Curse.

As he went on to demonstrate the correct wand movements in order to cast the curse, Hermione’s mind wandered to the very first time she heard the incantation of the shield.

\--

_Two months prior._

“Protego Anima.”

She was in his office, leaning against the front of his desk as she watched him pace in front of her. She’d barged in nearly half an hour ago, waving a journal in the air and claiming that the people who wrote that filth were dunderheads, when she noticed he was watching her expectantly instead of joining in her bashing of all things dunderheaded.

Silence had fallen between them before he stood up and walked over to her.

“I have the incantation,” he’d said. She’d leaned against the desk as he started to pace. “Protego Anima.”

“Protego Anima,” she’d repeated. Silence fell over them again as she pondered on the incantation. One of the hardest steps in creating a new spell was finding the right incantation. Without it, the intent of the spell was not clear, and the   
spell would often falter or fail. She knew he’d been having trouble with this last part of his research.

He stopped and looked at her, black eyes liquefied with their intensity.

He was anxious. This had been his passion for nearly two years, and she’d been a part of it for the last ten months. Ever since he’d invited her to his office nearly a year ago, he hadn’t been able to get her to leave. When she wasn’t engrossed in her own research, she was glued to his, helping in any way she could. His work fascinated her, especially because it hit close to home. If this had existed during the war…

She absentmindedly ran a hand over her forearm.

He noticed.

“Show me.” It was a quiet request, but the firmness in his voice told her it would be unwise to refuse.

He’d learned of that night at Malfoy Manner over too much firewhiskey several months ago, but he’d never asked to see her scars. She didn’t like to look at them herself, and avoided showing them to anyone. Now, he was demanding to see them, and she wasn’t sure what she should do. Despite the fact that she now spent more time with him them anyone else, she found herself becoming extremely self-conscious in his presence.

He sensed her hesitation and stepped in closer to her. Suddenly, she was hyperaware of his presence. His hair hung in wispy strands down to his ears, his lean body radiated a warmth that she was nearly sure only she could feel, and he smelled like the air after a long storm. When he reached out and gingerly wrapped his fingers around her forearm, her skin tingled.

He asked for permission with his eyes, and when she didn’t pull way, he used his other hand to slowly push up the sleeve of her robe up to her elbow. Her skin was creamy and flawless, except for the faded, puckered streaks that once spelled _Mudblood_.

She watched as his fingertips lightly skimmed over her marred flesh. Somewhere, deep inside her, something began to bubble to the surface, and she felt the old, familiar sting of unshed tears. She didn’t think she would ever get over what had been permanently etched into her skin, even if the word was no longer identifiable. It may just look like a jumbled mass of lines, but every time she looked at it, she saw _Mudblood_ staring back at her, freshly carved and dripping blood.

“If I had been there…” His voice sounded tight, and when she looked, she saw that his brow was furrowed as if he were in pain. He met her gaze, and she saw something she never believed she would see in her lifetime: pure, raw emotion.  
Even thought they’d spent the last ten months deepening their relationship as colleagues, and even becoming friends, he was still a very guarded man. She’d wondered on more than one occasion if he still kept his Occlumency shields up permanently because she’d glanced into his eyes to see nothing but dull, lifeless voids. While he was no longer the Dungeon Bat of her school days, and also seemed to smirk more than anyone she knew, he still kept his emotions guarded. Now, he gazed at her with his emotions unchecked, and she could practically finish his sentence in her head.

_If I had been there, I would have saved you._

She smiled at him, and placed her free hand over his. His eyes widened and his hand flinched, and she wondered how long it had been since another human being had touched him.

“I know,” she had whispered back. “I know.”

\--

Two months later, he was finally making his research public, and she couldn’t hold back how proud she was of the man at the podium. Not only that, but she could recall the smell of rain and the tingle in her forearm when she thought of that day two months ago. Something had begun to spark inside of her then, and she wasn’t quite sure what it was leading to.

She highly respected Severus. Over the last year, he’d become a trusted friend. She’d found he didn’t have many friends in this new age, despite his hero status, although when he wasn’t risking his life for the Boy Who Lived, the two got on pretty amiably.

His mind astounded her. The spells he’d created as a schoolboy outdid many of the scholars out in the world today, and he was still a relatively young wizard. She knew that while he may not be the most popular man in the Wizarding society, he was still trying to protect everyone by pursuing his research.

He made her skin tingle.

He would have saved her.

She liked him.

Her jaw slackened when it hit her. As she watched the man of her thoughts cast Protego Anima for the first time in a public setting, she felt her face begin to burn with realization.

She liked Severus Snape.

_I’m in trouble._


	5. Chapter 5

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**

Chapter Five

**

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Something wasn’t right.

Forgetting that Charlie Weasley was supposed to be dead, something just wasn’t clicking into place.

He’d taught Charlie for seven years, and the man staring at them with clouded eyes and an intent to kill did not give off the same aura as the boy did in the slightest.

Even though he was far away, Severus would wager that if he peered into the boy’s mind, he’d see a dense fog.

Whoever was controlling the boy really wanted to keep it a secret, especially if they sent him with a bloody dragon as protection.

“Charlie!” Hermione tried to get past him, but he held her in place with one arm behind him, holding his protective stance. He knew she probably had a number of different emotions running through her at the sight of her once presumed dead friend, but since he’d just clearly threatened their lives, the red-headed boy was not their ally.

“Stay back, Hermione,” he growled lowly, never letting his eyes leave Charlie’s. “This is not the Charlie Weasley you know.”

“Is he…is he really alive?” she whispered, grasping onto his arm with both hands.

“I’m not sure yet.” He really wasn’t. Was the apparition in front of them really Charlie Weasley, or an elaborate doppelganger forged by his murderer?

Charlie, perched on top of the black-scaled dragon in front of them, seemed to peer down at them emotionlessly. The red-head did not waste any time in lifting his wand, and before he knew it there were three jets of green light heading in their direction.

The killing curse.  
“Hermione, run!” He shoved Hermione in the opposite direction as to give their assailant two targets instead of one, and he dashed out of the curse’s way just in time to avoid being hit. His wand never leaving Charlie, he sent several stunners in the boy’s direction as he continued to run, making himself a moving target.

He was glad that the boy’s attention seemed to be on him instead of Hermione, but that faded when his stunners sizzled out of existence once it reached the proximity of the dragon. He didn’t know of a wizard that could cast a _Protego_ so large to protect both himself and a ridiculously large dragon, but some sort of shield had prevented his stunner from reaching the boy.

The attempt to stun the boy also seemed to upset the dragon, as it roared fiercely in his direction, causing his eardrums to ring painfully. He nearly expected fire to escape the beast’s mouth, but instead, a jet of purple gas shot out at an alarming speed. He cast a shield charm around himself, effectively causing the gas to swirl around him harmlessly, but he found his line of sight had been totally compromised by the thick vapour. It roiled around the shield, but the cloud did not let up. He swore.

“Hermione!” he shouted, hoping she would hear him and be able to do something about the smoke. Several seconds passed, and nothing happened. “Hermione!”

Something came blazing through the smoke in a flurry of red, cutting a clean line straight through the cloud. It struck his shield, cracking it. The reverberations of the spell hitting his shield cleared some of the smoke cloud, and he was met with the image of Hermione Granger advancing upon him, eyes clouded and wand aimed at him.

Her lips moved, but he could not hear the spell, and a bright stream of white light shot from her wand at his shield again. Three more spells followed in quick succession as she advanced upon him, each one cracking his shield a little more.

_Fuck._

She was using magic he knew she didn’t know how to use, and it was coming in powerful enough waves to destroy his shield. Her eyes were lidded, and he could make out the distinct fog he’d seen in Velonica’s eyes clouding her own.

She was being controlled, just like Charlie Weasley, and now he had to figure out how to incapacitate them both _and_ take out a dragon before he was killed.

He still couldn’t see the dragon or Weasley, only Hermione and the rapid succession of spells leaving her wand, chipping away at the shield. While the shield was up, he could not go on the offensive.

He placed one foot in front of the other, lowering into a running stance with his wand pointed in Hermione’s direction. Since Hermione was the only one attacking him, he assumed Weasley and the dragon were on standby, watching the scene. He decided to destroy his own shield, only partially, though, directly in front of him. This gave him the opportunity to sprint away from the cloud of what he assumed was poisonous gas while the rest of his shield kept it at bay. Then, he could knock Hermione out and hopefully keep her away as he went after Weasley and the dragon. Somehow sealing that dragon’s mouth shut was something he needed to figure out how to do while he worked on Hermione.

Things seemed to pass by in slow motion from that point forward.

He slashed his wand violently in the air, already stepping off on one foot while the shield in front of him crumbled away. He blocked one of Hermione’s incoming spells with more effort than he had originally assumed he’d needed. Her spells held more power than he knew Hermione possessed, and he took a fraction of a second to ponder on where she was receiving this boost of magic.

He pumped his legs as fast he possibly could, muscles that hadn’t been utilized in several years screaming in protest under the strain. He ignored it, concentrating on Hermione and how he could protect her. Something in his chest clenched at the thought of knocking her out, but it was the only way.

He managed to block every single spell she sent his way despite having to use extra effort, but consequently she blocked every stunner he sent her way as well. The gap between them was closing, and it seemed the only way he might be able to stop her would be through physical means.

_I’m so sorry, Hermione. This is my fault._

He could see her face clearly now, complete void of emotion and the mental fog clouding her normally vibrant eyes. Her lips continued to move, though he still couldn’t hear any words leaving her lips, and jet after jet of white light raced in his direction as she attempted to wound him.

He was so close now, and ready to pounce on her to slam her into the ground, when his ears echoed with the roar of the dragon. More purple smoke was hurtling its way toward him, as well as a short-ranged shot from Hermione’s wand. If he attempted to defend himself from one, he would most certainly be hit by the other.

_Fucking shit. Forgive me, Hermione._

He made his decision. His body had been made tolerant of most poisons years ago, and he had to put faith in his body to hold up against the poison in the dragon’s smoke long enough to save Hermione, the supposed Charlie Weasley, and himself before he succumbed to death.

If he had more time, he would have laughed at the fact that he was risking his life for another Muggleborn witch he’d grown fond of. No, more than just fond… It seemed that some things about him never changed.

The spell Hermione had hurtled at him was blocked, and then with all the power he could muster, he bellowed, “ _Retrudunt_!” and felt a wave of relief wash over his body as the witch was forcibly thrown back over thirty meters, away from the poisonous gas hurtling toward them.

She was safe from the poison, and he was glad.

A fraction of a second later, he was consumed in a purple cloud. He tried to hold his breath, raising his wand in an arc to nonverbally cast his shield, but the gas forced it way up his nostrils anyway, as if it were sentient and making a collision course for his lungs. He choked as the smoke shot down his throat and felt his lungs fill with the sickly sweet gas.

Instantly, his mind seemed to calm and his wand arm dropped to his side. His heartbeat slowed, his eyes drooped, and his body relaxed.

He felt…content. His head felt cloudy and fuzzy, but there was no worry, no pain…

* * *

__

One year ago.

Hermione ran a hand through her perfectly straight hair once again, making sure the charm she’d placed on it to flatten the riotous curls into submission was still in place.

She was sitting at a table at the Three Broomsticks, waiting for the boys and Ginny to show up. They usually Apparated together, but she’d made an excuse about retrieving something from her flat to grab something. What she’d really done was hastily cast charm after charm on her person, straightening her hair, smoothing her complexion and hiding her scars with a glamour, and transfiguring her dress to cling to her curves.

The image that had stared back at her in the mirror had been strikingly beautiful. When Hermione Granger cleaned up, she cleaned up well.

She had quickly Apparated to the pub after that, only to realize she’d still arrived before her friends. Leave it to them to be late when she wasn’t around to hurry them along. She had sent a Patronus letting them know she was waiting before finding a table with five chairs.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny were the usual group she made the time to grab drinks with, but there was going to be an addition to their group tonight. She’d invited Severus earlier that day. Ever since the first time he’d join them two years ago, he’d only managed to repeat the act twice. He had been so engrossed in his research with the _Protego Anima_ shield that he held very little free time. He’d become exceptionally busy ever since the spell had been made public, constantly traveling to different countries to give lectures at different Ministries. The last time he’d managed to join them had been nearly a year ago.

She hadn’t seen much of him lately, and that was saying a lot. Ever since her revelation a year ago about her developing feelings for him, she’d been sorely disappointed when he suddenly wasn’t in his office anymore when she came knocking. His work had whisked him away from her, and she found that going to work had become extremely lonely. The only solace she had was the owl that visited her during her lunch with Charlie’s letter every other day.  
Over the last year, she’d managed to catch him in his office only a handful of times, and that was usually when he was about to leave for another meeting or lecture or something of the like. Nothing more than a few kind words had been shared between them with promises to catch up at a later time.

Earlier that day, though, she’d been more than surprised when the door to her laboratory had opened and none other than Severus Snape had walked in with an apologetic smile on his face. His hair had grown longer, curving slightly underneath his jaw, and he’d looked weary.

“Here to stay?” she’d asked tentatively, hoping .

“Here to stay,” he’d confirmed, and she couldn’t remember smiling so hard in her entire life.

Now, later that evening, she was expecting him to join them for drinks. She didn’t fancy it a date, per se, but she felt like it was…something. He’d looked so tired when she last saw him, and had only thrown out the offer on a whim. Much to her surprise, he’d accepted, and the only thing that raced through her mind for the rest of the evening was _oh my God what am I going to wear?_

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone calling her name. She looked up to see the boys and Ginny standing at the table, and her face broke out into a huge grin. It had also been a very long time since all four of them had went out for a brew, and their Saturday night dinners had been slacking lately. She’d missed them terribly, and couldn’t stop herself from jumping up from her seat and rushing over to hug them.

Ginny was first, then Harry. They happily said their greetings, and she inquired about the children and Harry’s new position as Head of the MLE. Ron seemed to pout that it was taking too long to get his hug, because he swept Hermione up into his broad arms while she was in the middle of congratulating Harry for his recent promotion.

“Merlin, Ronald! You were next!” she playfully chided as she wrapped her arms around his neck when he spun her around.

“It’s been ages, ‘Mione! I couldn’t wait any longer,” he laughed, setting her down.

She’d probably missed Ron most of all. While the relationship of their youth hadn’t ended up the way they both planned, she had to admit that he knew much more about her than Harry did. Their breakup had been mutual, and after the initial phases of awkwardness had passed, they’d found that they still shared the same closeness from before. She still felt an enormous amount of affection for him, thought it wasn’t as her lover.

They began to sit down, Ron offering to be the first one to head to the bar to grab the drinks. Before she took her seat, the chime of the door to the pub opening caught her ear. Her eyes reflexively glanced toward the entrance, and she smiled when she saw Severus Snape standing in the doorway.

His eyes instantly landed on her, and she briefly realized that he’d been able to do that for years now. She saw that he still looked tired. He inclined his head in greeting, and began to make his way over to her.

Her heartbeat began to increase.

It had been nearly a year since she’d been able to spend much time with him. She hadn’t been nervous in his presence for almost two years, but as he approached her, she felt her cheeks begin to burn at his close proximity. His scent and his warmth overwhelmed her senses, and she was lulled into a quiet calm as she smiled up at him.

His eyes didn’t leave hers, only looked at her with the calm, calculating expression she’d seen on him before. They must have stayed like that for a few seconds too long, because there was the sound of Harry clearing his throat and saying, “Severus, it’s been too long! How are you?”

For a fraction of a second longer, Severus’s eyes didn’t leave hers. She saw something akin to amusement light up in the dark pools, and his lips quirked up in a smirk, before he turned to Harry and extended his hand.

\--

Two hours later and well into her cups, Hermione was feeling very relaxed indeed. Her body radiated warmth and a lazy grin seemed plastered to her face. Currently, Ron, Harry and Ginny were having a heated discussion about which team would win the next Quidditch World Cup, and since alcohol had been incorporated into the mix, they were quite loud. She didn’t participate in the conversation since she couldn’t care less about Quidditch, but she couldn’t help but smile at her friends.

“If you’ll pardon me,” she heard a soft, gravelly voice whisper into her ear. It sent shivers down her spine, and she turned to find her nose pressed up against Severus’s. Her cheeks flushed, but he only chuckled, pulling away from her with an amused smirk. She gaped at him for a few moments, completely embarrassed for pressing against him, before she nodded. He gave her on conciliatory pat on the knee before standing up and informing her he’d return in a few moments. He exited the pub.

It wasn’t until almost a quarter of an hour had passed another glass of wine had been consumed that she realized Severus hadn’t returned. Her friends were still bickering about Quidditch, and she found she was beginning to feel a bit lonely without having someone to talk to. She wondered if he had left, and frowned at the thought. He’d said he would return, so why would he leave?

She watched the door for a few extra moments, but he didn’t walk in. If he were still here, was he all right? She hadn’t seen him walk back in, so that meant he was still outside.

She turned to their friends and their debate, kindly whispering an excusal she was sure they didn’t hear before standing up and making her way to the door. She would just check up on him, and make sure he was okay…

The night air was cool against her heated skin, emphasizing the cloudiness in her head. She could walk perfectly fine, though, so she didn’t worry too much about her inebriation.

The sky was clear and the moon was waxing. Underneath the moonlight and the glow of the fairy lights around The Three Broomstick, it didn’t take Hermione very long to spot him leaning against the wall of the pub. She could make out the faint glow of a burning cigarette as he brought it to his lips and took a drag. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and let the hand holding the cigarette fall to his side before he became perfectly still.

He was staring off into the distance, and didn’t turn his head when she walked up to him and leaned against the wall as well. She watched her feet while he watched the distance, and they stood in silence with only the faint roar of the inhabitants of the pub inside behind them.

Something seemed off. She knew that he could have his moods where he didn’t want to talk to anyone, but he always acknowledged her presence, even if it was with a small nod or tiny smirk. When she thought about it, he hadn’t been very talkative during their time inside. He always replied when spoken to, but never initiated a conversation, not even with her.

She worried her lower lip with her teeth.

Had it been a mistake to invite him? Was he bored? They hadn’t had much communication for almost a year, so maybe he’d grown tired of her already. A year was a long time to change your perspective on things, and while her feelings for him may have developed, his may have diminished.

If that was so, then why we he would accept her offer to join them at the pub?

What if it was because he was still friends with Harry, and not her…?

“I can practically see the cogs turning in your head, Hermione.” Her thoughts were interrupted by his voice breaking the silence with words he’d used two years ago. Her attention snapped to him, and she watched as he Vanished the cigarette in his hand, his eyes on her. Her cheeks flushed guiltily.

“I came to see if you were all right,” she admitted softly.

“I am fine.”

“That’s good.”

“Hm.”

She let her eyes fall to his feet, and they stood in silence again. She was beginning to feel silly for coming out here at all. Obviously, he did not want to be in her company. She should probably leave him to his own devices.

She couldn’t stop the wave of hurt that washed over her.

“If you’re all right, then I’ll be returning inside,” she said, turning on her heel before he could respond to make her way inside. She was stopped when a hand wrapped around her forearm, pulling her back gently. She turned around, glancing at his hand on his arm, then up to his face.

He was looking at her arm, a crease in his brow as he searched for something. Her arm was smooth and void of any blemishes. 

His eyes flicked to her chest briefly, before finally landing on her hair. She stiffened when he took a lock of her hair into his free hand, rubbing it between his fingertips. He was frowning.

“Why are you hiding?” he asked as he toyed with her impeccably straight her.

“I-I’m not hiding,” she stammered, frowning as well. His eyes met hers.

“Has the span of one year changed you so?” She was shocked at the expression in his eyes. He was disappointed.

“I have not changed a single bit,” she defended, lifting her chin in her know-it-all manner.

“Then do not hide from me.”

It took her a few extra moments to realize what he meant. She wasn’t hiding anything from him. In fact, she’d been trying to show off her features with the dress she wore and the glamour – oh.

The glamour.

He’d been looking at her arm and her chest, looking for her scars. He’d looked at her straight hair, which he’d only ever seen as riotous curls.

Oh.

“ _Finite_ ,” she whispered, and instantly her sleek, straight hair reverted back to her normal mass of curls, and the scar on her sternum barely peeked out from the cut of her dress. The scar on her arm became visible as well. She watched his frown easily melt into one of content.

She wanted to kiss him.

It would be so easy, too. She was standing so close to him, and all she needed to do was stand on her toes and lean in the slightest bit…

But she couldn’t lose him.

She didn’t think she could bear it if he rejected her, and she did not want to lose his friendship, no matter the cost.

She made her decision then. She would not tell him. She would not hint to him. He did not need to know.

“This is the Hermione I remember,” he whispered, tugging on a stray curl. She smiled at him as he offered his arm in a gentlemanly fashion. “Come, let’s go back inside.”

And so they walked back inside together, and she tried to ignore the heaviness in her heart from her most recent decision.


	6. Chapter 6

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**

Chapter 6

**

****

He stood there, unmoving with a lazy smirk playing upon his features when he heard the voice inside of his head.

**_Severus…_ **

It was deep, and even though it was speaking softly, the voice resonated through every corner of his mind. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman’s voice, but all he knew was that it brought him instant comfort.

**_Dear Severus, poor Severus…Your life has been so incredibly trying on your soul…_ **

His soul.

The smirk on his lips faltered, and a frown creased his features instead.

**_I can help you heal your soul, Severus…_ **

Heal it… The soul inside of him that had been put under such a heavy strain since the moment he’d become a Death Eater. The soul inside of him that had nearly been to ripped to shreds the moment he’d cast the killing curse on Albus, only to be saved by the fact that Albus had _begged_ him to relieve the older wizard of his misery. Still, his soul had been cracked to what he thought was a point beyond repair after the last year of the war he spent facing the direct loathing of his former colleagues and students.

Even to this day, his soul still ached, and nothing had served to soothe the pain.

Except…

_**Only I can bring you this relief, Severus. Obey me, and find relief from your eternal suffering.** _

There had been something…

Something he’d discovered quite recently that had felt like a balm on his cracked soul. Through the fog of his mind, he could recall the startling recognition of a girl-turned-woman in front of him, the sound of the rain and the same woman’s flushed cheeks, the heat of her fingertips over his faded scar…

His hand began to throb in agony, and he fell to his knees, clutching his head as he screwed his eyes shuts. The fog was beginning to clear, and he could almost recall the woman’s name…

**_NO! I am the only one who can bring you peace. Obey me. Kill the girl who just attempted to take your life. She is the reason for your suffering, Severus! Kill her!_ **

The clarity he had found in his head was replaced by an onslaught of images of the same person, only this time she was aiming her wand at him with cold contempt, blasting spell after spell at him.

_That can’t be right…_

He tried to fight past the image, digging deeper into his mind to find the previous images. He was only met with more pain.

**_She is the reason you became a Death Eater. She is the reason why Dumbledore is dead. She is the reason why your colleagues despised you, and your masters used you for their own means. She killed Lily!_ **

Lily.

Image after image of the beautiful redhead flashed through his head, and he felt his heart swell.

She was dead…because of this girl?

No, no that wasn’t right.

**_Yes, Severus! Obey me! Kill her!_ **

No, no, no!

**_Such power…_ **

It wasn’t that girl.

It wasn’t her.

She did not kill Lily.

She was someone special.

She was the balm on his aching soul.

_Hermione…_

**_NO!_ **

He cried out in agonizing pain as the fog finally cleared from his mind and Occlumency shields fell firmly in place, rattling his head as clarity finally returned to him. His head ached terribly, but he knew he was no longer under the influence of the voice.

He had to act quickly.

In one swift movement, he shot up from his knees and angled his body toward the dragon. While he swooped in that direction, his eyes landed on Hermione, who lay unconscious several meters away. He noticed a thin stream of purple smoke leaking out of her open mouth and nostrils, and trailed the stream all the way to the dragon’s mouth. He noticed another stream just like it trailing out of the dragon’s mouth and into the body of Charlie Weasley, who was still perched on top of the dragon.

It was the beast.

The beast was controlling Weasley and Hermione with its smoke.

The beast had been inside of his head.

He didn’t quite understand it, but he knew he needed to take down the dragon if any of them were going to survive.

He let out a snarl and raised his wand, shouting _Retrudunt_ in rapid succession with as much power as he could muster. The fiery spell that shot from his wand sizzled against the shield that protected the dragon, but he focused all the magic from his core into his assault and watched as the shield began to crumble.

He would not lose.

He would protect her.

The dragon roared defiantly and another cloud of purple haze shot out at him. He didn’t bother blocking it this time, as he knew he would no longer become susceptible to its ability, especially with his Occlumency shields in place. He only continued to send spell after spell at the dragon’s shield, cracking it even more until finally, it shattered.

The first thing Severus did then was nonverbally knock Charlie Weasley off of the dragon’s back with the small hope that he wouldn’t crack his head open when he fell to the floor. In the fraction of a second it took to do that, the beast came hurtling toward him with unexpected speed and slashed at him with razor sharp claws.

His shield wouldn’t be up in time.

The dragon was surely going to slice him into ribbons.

He had failed.

_Hermione…_

“ _SECTUMSEMPRA_!”

Blood blacker than night sprayed all over his body as the dragon’s claw was sliced neatly off of its body by the severing spell, and the dragon roared in thunderous rage. His eyes darted over to the source of the spell, and he saw Hermione standing from the place she had fallen, clutching her abdomen and breathing heavily with her wand aimed at the dragon.

She had saved his life.

“GO, SEVERUS! NOW!”

He wasted no time in sprinting toward the dragon, and soon what he had associated to be the ground in their dark prison left his feet as he wordlessly ascended into the air. The dragon was still booming with the loss of its claw, and Severus took advantage of this as he became level with the dragon’s head.

“ _Reducto_!”

Four Reductos later, the dragon no longer had a head, and its massive body collapsed to the ground with a crashing thud.

He wasted no time in mulling over the fallen beast’s body. He spun in the air toward Hermione only to see that she had collapsed again, facing the ground. In an instant he had descended down to her and knelt by her side, simultaneously casting diagnostic charms while rolling her over on to her back. He paid no mind to the black blood that had soaked through his robes and into his hair as it dripped down his face and arms.

She was fine, only mentally and magically drained. She had fought through the dragon’s manipulation spell just as he did, thought it had taken much more strain on her part to do so. She was breathing in heavy rasps and was barely on the threshold of consciousness, though. He also noticed that her hair was sticky with red blood, probably from a gash on the back of her head when he knocked her unconscious.

“Severus…” Her whisper came out in more of a croak.

“Do not speak,” he commanded gently, propping her onto her side so he could find the wound. “You have busted your head open, and I am going to heal you. You may be concussed, and you have been magically drained. Please do not overexert yourself by speaking.”

She only hummed something unintelligible in response.

He wove his wand in an intricate pattern over the wound on the back of her head, effectively sealing it shut and stopping the blood from leaking out. He was sure she was going to have a pounding headache when she became fully conscious again.

“Severus,” she murmured again.

“I told you not to speak,” he said with no real malice, turning her over so she lay face up in his lap. Her eyes were open, if only slightly, and he was glad to see that all traces of hazy fog behind them were gone. She only looked up at him tiredly.

“Is it dead?” she asked softly. He nearly chuckled at how childlike she looked.

“Yes, it is,” he confirmed, unable to control himself from pushing a few stray curls behind her ear. “It’s over.”

And that’s when he felt it.

“ _Sectumsempra_!”

“ _Confringo!_ ”

And the world went black.

\--

He dreamt.

He dreamt of his reflection in a dirty mirror, glaring back at him with undisguised hatred. His hair hung in limp, matted tangles to his shoulders, and his sneer revealed decaying teeth. His skin was dirty and his face was haggard. Something roiled in his stomach – a tight, sick feeling he had come to recognize as disgust. 

He dreamt of slamming his fist into the mirror with a snarl, shards of glass embedding themselves into his dirty knuckles, blood trickling down his fingertips. He didn’t feel the pain over the waves of self-hatred washing over him. How had he ended up like this? He wasn’t dead, yet he wallowed in self-pity as if he’d really succumbed to his final fate that night at the Shrieking Shack. It had been almost a year, and he was nothing more than a shadow of his former self.

He dreamt of panting hard, watching his blood drip into the dirt-caked sink, when he made a decision. Without considering the repercussions, he grabbed the largest chunk of the shattered mirror with one hand and a rusted pair of Muggle clippers he’d bought years before the war ended with the other. Satisfied with the buzz of the tool coming to life, he used the shard of glass to watch his reflection as he ran the clippers along his scalp, letting strands of tangled hair fall to the floor.

He dreamt.

He dreamt of endless nights thrown into his research, fueled hungrily by his new-found objective for living. No longer shackled down by madmen, he could pursue anything he wanted, and he found he still wanted to help. 

He dreamt.

He dreamt of perusing a manual in the Ministry’s library when he felt the familiar pressure of eyes watching him. His eyes snapped up reflexively to land on a woman standing at the aisle. She was gaping at him, and not doing a very good job of hiding it. He wasn’t surprised, though, because plenty of people still gaped at him as if he was going to murder their families. _Beautiful_ , he thought blandly, as if he were simply stating a widely-known fact.

He dreamt of the beautiful woman’s golden-brown locks and cinnamon eyes and the pang of familiarity he found in them. It took him a few extra seconds to realize that he was looking at Hermione Granger, and she had grown up. Instead of the oncoming headache he’d learned to associate with the swot, he’d only smirked at the thought that _Hermione Granger had grown up to become a beautiful woman._

He dreamt.

He dreamt of the surprise at seeing her again, drenched from head to toe and pouting in the rain. He might not be proud to admit it, but he watched for longer than he should have, taking in her image and committing it to memory. When her body began to tremble as she began to grow cold, his instinct screamed “ _protect her_ ”, and so he shielded her from the rain. That’s when he first noticed her scars.

He dreamt.

He dreamt of the persistent voice in the back of his head telling him to prove himself to her, to not let her have the wrong idea of him. Get her attention, show her the man he’d become, have her in his life. When he succeeded, and she became an almost daily occurrence he couldn’t live without, he felt the constant ache he felt in his chest begin to subside.

He dreamt.

He dreamt of her fingertips against what used to be his Dark Mark, and the warmth that flooded his body every time she did so.

He dreamt of the remnants of the war etched in her body, and the regret he felt in his bones when he realized that he had failed to protect everyone.

He dreamt of a year apart, and the ache in his chest returned.

He dreamt of her.

He dreamt.

\--

When he woke up, he was greeted by stark white walls and a steady beeping noise in the background.

His head felt foggy and disoriented, and he soon realized he couldn’t feel his anything below his neck.

The last thing he remembered was a stinging pain in his side, and Hermione’s expression of horror as his blood sprayed all over her face.

_Hermione…_

He couldn’t move, but he already knew he was in St. Mungo’s. The same white walls had greeted him several times before, and he recognized the beeping sound as a diagnostic charm monitoring his heartbeat. Slowly, the fuzziness inside of his head began to clear, and he made sense of what was going on.

He’d been cursed. With his own damned curse, too. He didn’t know who had cursed him, or how he ended up in St. Mungo’s, but he assumed that they’d been successful in escaping.

He wondered if Hermione was okay, and he grit his teeth as he tried to move his fingers. It took nearly half an hour, but before long, he was able to wiggle his left little finger. Sweat beaded on his forehead through the strain, but slowly, he began to fight through whatever potion they’d given him to paralyze him.

An hour later, after he’d gained control of his upper torso, he shakily pushed himself up into a sitting position. His face and arms were covered in a fine sheen of perspiration from his efforts, but he was determined to get out of the damned bed if it killed him.

It was right at the moment he’d brought himself to a complete seating position, that the door to his room opened, and in stepped the woman of his thoughts.

They made eye contact, and she froze in the doorway, immobilized by shock. He felt a wave of relief rush over him as he noticed not a single strand of unruly hair was out of place, and she looked relatively unharmed. Her robed were different from the last time he saw her in Greece, and her skin was clean, without a single trace of his blood.

She was okay.

He heard her squeak when his arms gave out and he fell back onto his side with a grunt.

“Severus!” He heard her rush over to him as he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against a sharp pain that shot up his side. “Merlin, you shouldn’t even be able to move! How did you manage to sit up?” She sounded astonished by his feat.  
He felt cool hands against his skin through the dressing gown as she gingerly rolled him onto his back. The same hands felt his cheek and forehead, and he opened his eyes to find her worrying her bottom lip and looking down at him with worry clearly written on her features.

When she tried to tug her hand away, he snatched it back to press it against his cheek. He closed his eyes convinced himself it was simply relief for his heated skin.

“Sev-“

“Are you all right, Hermione?” His voice was even raspier than usual from disuse.

“Y-yes,” she stammered. “I’m fine. You, however, are not.”

“What happened?” He still did not let go of her hand. She seemed to take the hint, and he felt the hospital bed dip next to him as she sat down.

“You were hit by Sectumsempra,” she whispered, her voice tight. “It took out a chunk of your torso.”

“Who cast it?”

“Velonica. Even though the dragon was dead, she was still under its influence, trying to obey its will. If it hadn’t had been for Charlie, we’d both be dead… He managed to stop Velonica right after she cursed you, and kept you from bleeding out too much before the Healers arrived… He saved our lives.”

He snorted.

“I’m in debt to a Weasley,” he drawled, and felt her stiffen. His eyes snapped open to see that she was looking away from him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He let her hand go, and she placed them in her lap, wringing her fingers together. “Hermione…”

“You were dying,” she whispered. “You were so close to me, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything but watch you die, and all I could think was ‘ _not again, not again, please not again_ …’ For the second time in my life, I had to watch your blood spill all over the floor while the life left your eyes, and it was _so painful_ l.” Her voice broke and something in his chest tightened. “So I’m grateful to Charlie for staying by your side and singing the countercurse to save your life.”

The tears began to silently trail down her cheeks, and she did her best to wipe them away. He frowned.

She was crying for him.

For _him_.

He didn’t think he could take it.

He began to push himself up, grunting when the same pain shot up his side again.

“Don’t sit up,” she sniffed, trying to wipe away her tears and push him back down at the same time. He snatched her hand in his, finally in an upright position, and she gasped when he pulled her toward his body. His free arm wrapped around her shoulders and held her against him, her mass of curls just underneath his chin and her head pressed against his chest. He kept her hand clasped in his as he held her, and silence stretched between them.

They did not move, and he basked in her warmth. He spent every passing second memorizing the feel of her body against his, because he knew this would be the first and last time he’d be able to hold her in his arms. She trembled slightly, and he knew she was crying silently against him.

“Do not cry for me, Hermione.” He felt her fingers dig into the dressing gown. “I am alive, thanks to Weasley. Do not cry for someone who is not dead.” He felt her nod against his chest, even though her shoulders still shook.

She remained in his embrace for countless moments with nothing but the sound of the diagnostic charm to remind him he wasn’t dreaming. He couldn’t remember when she finally became still, but he felt her slowly pull away. He sighed mentally, ready to release his hold on her, except she stopped when they were face to face, making eye contact.

There was something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite name, but she was looking at him with something so intense, he could feel his cheeks growing warm. He’d never had a woman look at him the way she was now. Her eyes darted across his face, seeming to catalogue every minute detail, lingering on his lips for a second longer, before meeting his eyes once more.

He wanted to kiss her.

Almost as if she’d heard his thoughts, her eyes widened.

“Severus…?” It was a question. Was she…asking permission?

No.

It couldn’t be.

Hermione Granger did not fancy Severus Snape.

_No one_ fancied Severus Snape.

He squeezed her hand before closing his eyes. Seeing her, looking at him with those eyes, was not going to help his damned impulses.

“You should go, Hermione,” he whispered, and he felt her stiffen. “I’m tired.”

He did not open his eyes again.

She left.

* * *

Hermione Granger chewed on the end of her quill as she stared off into space. It was her first day back at the Ministry since the Greece incident, and she found that even though two weeks had already passed, she still couldn’t concentrate on her work. Completely ignoring the report in front of her, she idly nibbled at the quill as she once again thought of Severus Snape.

He’d nearly died. All because he’d been trying to find Charlie Weasley’s supposed murderer. All because some dragon with a grudge had decided to use her friend as a mechanism for its revenge. All because he’d been trying to bring her some sort of closure.

This all wouldn’t have happened if they’d known the dragon had been the culprit from the beginning. The dragon had been far more intelligent than Charlie and his team could have ever comprehended, and one day when it had been able to break Charlie’s defenses and use its vapor to put him under its control, the dragon’s plan of revenge against the wizards who had captured it had been set in motion.

She hadn’t been able to talk to Charlie much since then. Between the Auror’s investigation and the Weasley family matriarch, she hadn’t been able to see him for more than two minutes at a time. She had managed to learn from the report Harry had let her see that Charlie had been under the dragon’s control for three months, and had been forced to find an appropriate way to take out his colleagues to fit the dragon’s taste for vengeance.

She frowned, wondering how Charlie was doing. She knew everything must have been incredibly stressful for him, especially since he’d technically aided the dragon in murdering his colleagues. Under the dragon’s influence, he’d discovered Velonica’s hideout. While Velonica had been the one to administer the potion and create a fake dead body for Charlie, she knew he must be going through misery knowing his colleagues were dead, and that he’d helped. The only reason why he was still alive in the first place was that the dragon hadn’t been finished with him yet. Had the beast lived, Charlie’s fate would have been the same as the others.

Hermione’s thoughts wandered back to Severus and her overwhelming relief at seeing him conscious in the hospital. She tried not to recall the memory of a chunk of his torso exploding right in front of her, or the feel of his blood, hot and sticky, spraying all over her face. Instead, she focused on the memory of the burning in his eyes as he held her, and how she was so sure he would let her kiss him before he had quietly ordered her to leave.

Her thoughts had been spiraling around that moment for the last week. She hadn’t seen him since then, and the fact that she knew he was in the same building as her right now did nothing to ease her nerves. She was grateful he was okay and fit to return to work, but she still hadn’t managed to even bump into him today. She’d visited his office three times, only to find it empty.

She felt like a fool. She had let the intensity of the relief she’d felt get the best of her, and when he’d pulled her into his arms, she’d took it as more than it was. He was only trying to comfort a weeping colleague, not beg her to ravish him in a hospital bed.

Silently casting a _Tempus_ charm, she sighed. For the first time since she’d started her job at the Ministry, Hermione Granger decided to go home right on schedule.

She was in the back of her office, pulling on her cloak when it happened.

The door to her office burst open and in a whirlwind of black robes, Severus Snape stormed into her office.

With her cloak dangling off of the arm she’d managed to pull it over, she stood frozen in her spot as he stomped toward her. He looked riled up, and almost angry about something, muttering darkly under his breath. Her mind went into overdrive trying to process what he could be mad at her about. Was he upset about the time in the hospital?

It wasn’t until he was standing directly in front of her that she caught the last few words he muttered, something about “no longer denying himself”, when a deafening silence fell over them. She looked up at him with what she was sure were wide, shocked eyes, with her cloak only half on. He looked back at her, his gaze molten, breathing hard through his nose.

“Sev-“

“You can have me sacked when I’m done,” he interrupted, and then all of her nerves went into overload as his hand came up and cupped her cheek and his head swooped down so that he could press his lips against hers.  
Something akin to latent magic crashed over her like a wave, and she felt her body go rigid.

He was kissing her.

His hand against her cheek was calloused and firm, but radiated an inviting, soothing warmth. His scent, the crisp, clean smell of air after a storm, washed over her senses, and his nose was pressed tightly against hers. His lips, thin yet amazingly soft, moulded against hers perfectly.

She couldn’t remember when she closed her eyes, or when her hand had come up and sifted its way through his hair, but she did remember the surprised noise he made when she began to kiss him back.

The kiss was tentative and awkward, their lips carefully touching with the slightest of pressure. She moved against him, breathing through her nose as she leaned in closer. She didn’t know exactly what was going on, but she knew that if this was some sort of fluke, she wanted to take advantage of it as much as possible. Both of her hands came up to either side of his face, and she pressed her lips against his tighter. This ignited something inside of him, and his free arm wrapped around her waist to pull her flush against his body, intensifying the kiss.

Dizzying moments passed by, and all she knew was that _he’s kissing me, I’m kissing him back, we’re kissing…_

Entirely too soon, he broke away for air, and she idly thought of how cold her lips seemed without his against them.

He did not kiss her again, but he did not let go of her waist.

“Hermione...”

“How long?” she asked, secretly surprised that her voice did not shake.

He gave her a look of confusion.

“How long have you been holding that back?”

Her smirked at her, and she felt her lips quirking up in response.

“Years.” This time, he did kiss her again, and she felt something begin to kindle in her stomach, building into a long, slow burn.

When they parted, she couldn’t control the flush of her cheeks or the grin on her face as she beamed up at him, and she was relieved to see that he looked content as well. “Severus, you daft man. What took you so long?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks. :) Feedback is much appreciated. Once again, thanks to sixpence jones for her amazing beta work, and thanks to karelia for her prompt.


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